An Affair of Poisons(40)

His eyes flare. “I am a commoner.”

“Are you? Truly?”

He tugs at his collar in frustration. “That’s beside the point. I must focus on getting my sisters safely out of Paris before your mother finds us, which is why I can’t allow you to flit about raising a ruckus and getting yourself caught. It’s madness to think one person could make a difference, anyway.”

“Is it, princeling?” I take a bold step closer, the toes of my boots knocking his. He’s a good head taller than me, but my indignation raises me up to his height. “Did I not make a difference when I brought your sisters and Desgrez back from the dead?”

“Yes, but—”

“Don’t others deserve such a mercy?” His lips part, but I don’t let him speak. “I’m not asking for your permission. I’m free to do as I please. You’re free to go on your way, help me, or kill me. And since we both know you can’t stomach the third option …”

He rips off his tricorne hat and rakes his fingers through his messy hair. “I haven’t time to help the whole bedamned city!”

“So don’t. Scurry back to the sewer.” I charge from the alcove and continue down the rue Saint-Honoré toward the gatehouse in the palace wall, though I’m not entirely sure how I’ll get inside. Perhaps when the guards change… .

I stop beneath the awning of a butchery across the road and study the gate, with its sharp iron teeth digging trenches into the ground. I tilt my head back and frown up at the ramparts that soar higher than the roofs of the half-timbered houses.

“Do you have a death wish?” Josse materializes beside me, grabs my elbow, and pulls me down the street. “You’ll be caught within the hour if you try to get through there. Follow me. I lived here half my life. I’ll get you inside.”

“I thought you didn’t have time to help?”

“I don’t. But I’ll have even less time if you’re captured.”

He leads me past the palace, down the muddy, sloping embankment of the Seine, and plunks me down in the reeds. The cold mud seeps through my skirt, and I shudder as the midnight breeze skiffs across the river. “This doesn’t look like the inside of the palace,” I say.

Josse glowers and removes a dagger from his boot.

I eye it warily but refuse to flinch. “Ah, I see. You’ve decided to kill me after all.”

“We both know I’m not going to kill you,” he murmurs, turning the blade to offer me the handle. “Cut off your hair.”

My hands instinctively reach for my curls. “Why?”

“Why do you think?” He makes large swirling gestures all around his head that are offensive and altogether exaggerated.

“It isn’t that unruly.”

“You’ll be recognized in an instant. Hair is a small price to pay to be the savior of the people. Cut it off.”

Grudgingly, I take the dagger and do as he says, sawing off my curls just above my ears. By the time I finish, I’m surrounded by piles of light brown hair—it looks like I sheered a lamb—and I silently mourn the long, curling strands as they blow away across the river. My ears have never been so cold. “Now what?”

“Now we wait.”

We sit, shivering and soaking, for what feels like an eternity, until the outline of the Louvre glows gray and pink. As the sun rises over the water, a group of palace maids file down the embankment, strip off their dresses, and splash into the Seine.

I shoot the bastard prince a wicked grin. “Dare I ask how you know when the maids come to the river to bathe?”

“Be quiet and take a dress.”

“Will they recognize you?”

“Only if you keep talking and draw their attention.”

We slink forward on our bellies to where the girls left their clothes, and I pull on a scratchy slab of wool with a grunt. It’s still warm with body heat and the underarms are slightly damp. My eyes flick to the river. Some poor girl’s going to come out of the freezing water to find nothing but pebbles and reeds, but I haven’t time to feel overly guilty because when I look to my left, I see that Josse has somehow squeezed himself into a gray maid’s dress as well. I laugh and slap my hand over my mouth.

“Not a word,” he says as he viciously ties the bonnet strings beneath his chin.

The pathway from the river to the palace is short, and we reach the postern gatehouse in a blink. Thankfully, the masked sentries are too busy playing cards to notice a pair of maids in ill-fitted uniforms, so we hunch our shoulders and shuffle inside without trouble.

At once, we are enveloped in a flurry of activity. Masked Society members swarm the outer courtyard. Some march in single file while others spar with rapiers and daggers. Colonels in plum-colored livery pace atop the curtain wall, barking orders. The sight makes my breath catch. I knew the Society was large, but it’s staggering to see them all in one place. And even more unsettling to see them drilling like a proper army.

Josse gapes around the courtyard, then looks at me askance. As if I singlehandedly recruited every one of them. Or conveniently forgot to tell him that Mother had legions of soldiers. But I’m every bit as shocked. This isn’t who we are.

“Let’s keep moving.” Josse says, his voice low. “The servants’ outbuildings are located behind the castle proper.” He leads us along the curtain wall and around the nearest watchtower, but the moment he enters the courtyard, he slams to a halt. I crash into his back and start to curse him for smashing my nose, but he’s already cursing enough for us both.